


essence

by ednae



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Panty Raid, is this really how i christen the tennmatsuri tag, it sure fucking is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-08 18:05:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19475872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ednae/pseuds/ednae
Summary: It’s been a month now.Thirty-one days of sleepless nights, of tossing and turning, of wondering why the fuck he had to see what he did that morning.He can’t get it out of his head, the image burned into his retinas. When he closes his eyes, it’s there. When he blinks, it’s like a strobe effect of those goddamn frilly pinkMagical★Kokonapanties.And now his life will never know peace.





	essence

**Author's Note:**

> i literally can't even bring myself to reread this to edit it but if you can actually sit through this then i think you have the willpower to ignore a few typos

It’s been a month now.

Thirty-one days of sleepless nights, of tossing and turning, of wondering why the _fuck_ he had to see what he did that morning.

He can’t get it out of his head, the image burned into his retinas. When he closes his eyes, it’s there. When he blinks, it’s like a strobe effect of those goddamn frilly pink _Magical★Kokona_ panties.

And now his life will never know peace.

Gaku runs his hand down his face, a long sigh exhaled along with the last of his nerves. There’s no reason to hesitate now; his boyfriends are out of the house, and only he’s here. He’s safe. He can get in, get out, and no one will ever have to know.

But he has to know that they exist. That he wasn’t just making it up. He needs the reassurance so he can move on with his life and stop dreaming about those panties, so small and delicate that he can’t imagine they would fit on any of them.

Right?

His stomach flips at the thought that enters his mind.

No, nope. No distractions. He’s not here to fantasize. He’s here to confirm what he saw that morning when Nagi was rifling through his drawers.

The door to their shared bedroom slides open. He holds his breath.

Everything is the same as usual. Their bed is unmade, leftover from the night before. Their life is on hold for the day, with Mitsuki and Yamato working, and Nagi and Tenn on a date at an anime cafe together. It’s how they’ve lived for months now, ever since they moved in together. It’s peaceful and calm and it feels _right._

Except for the memory that won’t leave Gaku alone.

He tiptoes over to the drawers with bare feet barely touching the floor, not entirely sure why he’s trying to be quiet when he knows that no one’s here. Maybe it’s the principle of the thing, the mere fact that he knows what he’s doing is wrong. But he can’t rest, he can’t move on, unless he sees them for himself.

So he pulls open the top drawer, the one specifically designated for Nagi, and sucks in a breath at what he finds.

It’s just ordinary clothes, t-shirts and tank tops and underwear that any guy would own, but it’s _Nagi’s_ and somehow that makes it more special. He’s never actually cared to look at any of his boyfriends’ drawers before; it seems like an invasion of privacy. But here he is, staring down shirts and underwear in all the colors of the rainbow, all as bright as Nagi is.

He sticks his hand between a yellow shirt and a pair of red boxers.

It’s just cotton, it’s all normal fabric. He’s felt the same thing a million times before rifling through his own drawer to find something to wear. It feels scandalous.

He pushes the boxers aside to find another layer below it. It’s a deep drawer, double layered just like all of theirs, all neatly folded by Mitsuki and Yamato at night when they’re drinking in the den.

Gaku pushes his hand deeper and hits the floor of the drawer.

He can’t go lower. He hopes that somehow, the panties were an illusion. He knows what he saw, but he wishes he didn’t.

His fingers crawl along the bottom, feeling for anything that isn’t breathable cotton. He can’t muster up the courage to look. His eyes scan the walls of their room, littered in amateur selfies of them at various lives or on dates. All of them are smiling wide, happy to be alive, happy to be together.

It’s when he’s looking at the selfie of all five of them at their last live that he feels it. His cheeks heat up and his breath stills and five ecstatic grins are staring back at him and he can _feel_ soft satin under the pads of his fingers.

His fingers curl around the fabric and he retracts his hand, pulling it out with it.

He can’t bear to look at it, but he also can’t bear to keep looking at the pictures. It feels like a betrayal.

He looks down at his hand.

The fabric is spilling out of his fist, draped gently over his skin. It exists. The panties exist.

There are white lace frills lining the top hem of the pink satin, pink ruffles attached to the sides. Kokona’s face is printed in the center. It looks entirely impractical, and yet Gaku can understand the appeal of this type of lingerie.

Gaku lets out his breath. It’s real, he assures himself. He doesn’t know whether he likes having this knowledge or not. But at least he’s no longer questioning himself, no longer craving confirmation. He doesn’t need to second guess his own sanity, his own eyes. Because they’re right here, in his hands, and what he saw thirty-one days ago was real.

Somehow, he’s not satisfied.

Because the questions return. He’s never seen Nagi _wear_ them before. Even on those nights when they’re all dressed up in lingerie and fooling around, Nagi has never worn them.

Does… does he wear them in private?

Does he just have them for show?

Is he embarrassed?

Gaku doesn’t understand _why_ he would be embarrassed. It’s not like Nagi has ever shown any self-consciousness about sharing his love for his interests before.

He doesn’t understand, and so the questions eat at him until he can’t take it anymore.

Sure, he could let his curiosity fester, but he’s already here, and he won’t have to wait to find out. He won’t have to go behind Nagi’s back again.

Are the panties for show, or does he use them?

There’s only one way to find out, Gaku reasons.

He squeezes his eyes shut as he presses the fabric to his nose and breathes in, deep and slow.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he’s instantly bombarded with Nagi’s scent. Maybe it’s just because it’s been sitting at the bottom of a drawer full of Nagi’s clothes, but it smells like _him_ and it’s overwhelming in the best way possible.

He finds himself caught up in memories of warm nights pressed against Nagi’s back, hair tickling his nose as they spoon, bodies flush against each other. It’s _Nagi_ and it’s so comforting. It’s the man he loves more than anything in the world.

The panties smell like how Nagi’s kisses taste—gentle and slow and filled with passion and barely contained excitement. A little citrus, a lot of florals. It’s mixed in with the fabric softener Yamato uses, that undercurrent of freshness that ties them together and makes them _them._

Gaku breathes in again, and he remembers how he felt a few nights ago with Nagi on top of him, hair messy and wild and gorgeous in a way that only a natural Nagi can be. He’s so put-together in public. Seeing him when he takes down his hair and lets himself be free is something else entirely.

One hand still holding the panties to his nose, he lets the other one drop into his lap, relaxing as he takes in the essence of _Nagi._

He doesn’t hear the door slide open.

But he sees, when his eyes flutter open, half-lidded and still caught between reality and nostalgia, Tenn standing before him, the sliding door parted just enough that he can push his way through.

He’s dripping wet with a towel wrapped around his torso, his bare feet turned in and his eyes staring unblinking at Gaku.

He pulls his hand away, but the panties stay draped on his nose. But he’s frozen; he can’t lift his hand to take it off, his limbs suddenly too heavy.

His hand is dangerously close to his crotch.

He stares at Tenn.

Tenn stares back.

Neither of them say anything for a long, long time.

The air around them presses down on Gaku like a dumbbell, like an anvil unceremoniously dropped on him like in a cartoon.

Finally, after too long, Tenn clears his throat. “Gaku…”

The sound of Tenn’s voice sends Gaku into a blind panic, and he scrambles to pull himself together and save face in any way he possibly can. He coughs, but the panties stay stubbornly on his nose. “I’m—I’m not Gaku.”

Tenn raises an eyebrow.

“I’m Yamamura, from the soba shop.”

Tenn breathes in sharply through his nose and clutches his towel, plush and the same shade of pink as Nagi’s panties, closer to his chest. There’s obvious doubt in his eyes but Gaku can’t back down, can’t say anything more. There’s nothing left _to_ say.

He knows what this looks like. He knows what he was doing. He knows Tenn doesn’t believe him. And now his throat is dry and his eyes are glued to Tenn and there’s nothing more he can say, nothing more he can do. He’s completely at Tenn’s mercy.

But Tenn just stops and nods, just a few quick motions. His mouth is pressed in a thin line, and he backs out into the hallway, step after painfully slow step.

Gaku is frozen, but the panties sway gently in a nonexistent breeze.

The door slides shut, breaking their eye contact. The panties fall from his nose into his lap.

The world is silent. Even Gaku’s incessant thoughts have quieted. Thirty-one days later, and he no longer feels the unquenchable curiosity roiling in his gut.

In his peripherals, the panties mock his very existence.

**Author's Note:**

> please don't let [patton](http://twitter.com/sleepyranpoes/) and me come up with any more aus together
> 
> anyway here's my [twitter](http://twitter.com/polythagoras/)


End file.
